On Elephants
by DamnI'mRandom
Summary: 'It was time to face the elephant in the room.' Johnlock.


_As always, I own nothing. This is my late Valentine's Day gift to everyone. Did someone say I hate Valentine's Day? Because I do. But JOHNLOCK. :3 _

…

Sherlock Holmes woke up to the sound of his phone buzzing, alerting him that he had a new text message. His head throbbed (he couldn't remember from what), and the sheets next to him were bunched up into what seemed to be a human shape. He frowned. What _had_ happened last night, and why couldn't he remember? As the person stirred and his face became visible to Sherlock, it all came flooding back to him in a waterfall of memory.

_John_.

They'd had a bit too much to drink at the flat (John had convinced him somehow), and they'd done some _pretty_ daft things – he'd climbed onto John's back and they'd paraded like that to Mrs Hudson's flat, they'd _cuddled_, and somehow, they'd ended up in bed together. But surely they hadn't – they _definitely_ hadn't – had they?

His phone buzzed yet again.

John's eyelids fluttered and he looked up at him sleepily and smiled tentatively.

'Hey,' he offered, taking his arm and pulling him down for a long, slow kiss.

_Oh_. So they _had_. Sherlock was still a bit hazy with the details, but he was happy to oblige. Apparently, everything non-platonic that he'd ever felt about John Watson (which was a lot) had come out when his inhibitions were lowered, and John had felt exactly the same. That was the good news.

Another buzz, another text message. Sherlock pulled away with a groan and reached over to where his phone was lying on the carpeted floor. Of _course_ it was Lestrade. He was out of his depth, _again_.

_Sherlock, I need you to come over right now. – Greg_

_45, Holbrooke Avenue. – Greg_

_Hurry! – Greg_

'Uh,' Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly (John was still looking at him through the haze of sleep), 'we have a case. Apparently it's urgent.'

'Right. Yeah, of course.' John looked down (in shame? Sherlock didn't know). He was hoping Sherlock would talk about what'd happened yesterday, but no such luck. He wrapped a blanket around himself and hobbled over to his room. (When had he sprained his ankle? Had they been _that_ energetic last night?)

Sherlock showered quickly and pulled his clothes on, stopping to ponder last night's curious events, and came to the conclusion that it was best not to think about it for the time (though the thought of what they'd done made him blush quite a lot). But John would require an answer, right? And he'd be hurt when Sherlock said that it was all a mistake – they _had_ been supremely drunk, after all.

They met at the foot of the stairs after exactly fifteen minutes, and Sherlock sneaked a quick glance towards John. He seemed to be holding up okay, but he obviously had a lot of things to say. And yes, Sherlock hadn't mentioned anything about last night, and wasn't about to either. As far as he was concerned, nothing _had _happened. John would just have to live with that. (That wasn't too cruel, was it?)

They clattered down the stairs, the noise alerting Mrs Hudson, who came out of her kitchen to grin and wink at them before they left. Sherlock shot her a Look and she turned confusedly to John, who shrugged half-heartedly, before she went back to her washing.

…

'So, what is it?' Sherlock asked brusquely, pushing past the usual loitering pair of Anderson and Donovan, who sniggered as he and John made their way into the corridor leading up to the flat. John ignored them as he hobbled after his… friend? Lover? What _were_ they to each other now?

'I think it's best you see for yourself…' Lestrade said, noticing Sherlock was being more aloof than ever before. He glanced between the pair of them and gathered that _something_ had happened between them, something very recent. He gave them room to go into the flat.

On the floor was a naked man lying spread-eagled, with an elephant stamped on his stomach, right above the point where the dribble from his mouth stopped. Sherlock took one long look at the room they were in.

'Oh, for God's sakes…' he muttered, glaring back at the door behind them. He turned to John, who was watching him expectantly. 'Doctor Watson, time of death?'

'What? Oh. I'd say between… eleven and three this morning. Didn't you figure that out on your own?'

'I wanted a professional opinion. Lestrade,' he called.

'Yeah?' Lestrade came inside.

'Glaringly simple, one you could've solved yourself. It was his wife. She suspected he was sleeping with the secretary at his office and found them going at it after she came back from school – she's a teacher – but didn't say anything about it to him. Didn't indicate that she was upset, but she slipped a cyanide pill into the regular batch of pills he took for high cholesterol levels, and it took effect shortly after he went to sleep. Classic case of revenge for cheating. Are we done here?' He looked at Lestrade, who narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

Sherlock strode out, followed, as ever, by John.

'So, is he just as aggravating in bed?' Anderson taunted, and John froze.

'Big words coming from _you_, Anderson. Your wife left you yet?' Sherlock said casually, but his shoulders were stiff and his manner was drawn, and he didn't seem to want to prolong the conversation. 'C'mon, John.'

John was angry, _beyond_ angry now. They'd had _sex_, for God's sake. How could Sherlock be so casual about it? It was a big step, even for John, and here was Sherlock, not paying it a second thought! He felt like laughing hysterically. They reached the pavement, and Sherlock was about to hail a cab, when John seized his arm and turned him around to look at him. Sherlock, he was satisfied to note, winced. It was time to face the elephant in the room.

'Sherlock,' he growled, not caring about a few passers-by who'd stopped to look.

Sherlock's expression was steely, but he managed to keep his voice steady. 'John,' he said calmly.

'Why d'you _refuse_ to acknowledge the fact that we slept together, and enjoyed it too? Am I supposed to be emotionless, like you, and not feel anything? Or was it just a mistake that you can delete from your _hard drive_? Don't I mean anything to you?' he burst out.

Sherlock took this in with a thoughtful look on his face.

'John,' he began slowly, 'I just… I've never done this before. And I don't know where all this leads. And… of course you mean something to me, you mean so much more to me than you could ever imagine. All of what I said yesterday was completely true, and even if it was a mistake that we ended up together, it was a happy one. You're John Watson. _My_ John Watson. Nothing can change that.' He looked to John hesitantly to see if he'd said the right thing.

John nodded and said, 'So we're… _what_ now, exactly?'

'We're partners. In all sense of the word.' Sherlock smiled, and after a while, John smiled too. He stood on his tip-toes and kissed Sherlock passionately. Sherlock froze, but as soon as he realised it was _his_ John, he kissed back.

When they broke away, Sherlock licked his lips and shyly offered John his hand. John gladly took it, squeezing it gently to indicate that it was _all okay_.

It was them, after all. What could possibly go wrong? And even if it did, it'd all work out in the end, as it always did.

…

_Thoughts?_


End file.
